


Routine

by themoonlightreveals



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Idiots in Love, Intimacy, M/M, Mark Fischbach Egos, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the fic that made me go hhhhhhhh while writing, where the fuck is the darkiplier tag.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonlightreveals/pseuds/themoonlightreveals
Summary: Wilford helps Dark with make up.There are a few unspoken things between them.
Relationships: Damien | The Mayor (Who Killed Markiplier?) & Wilford Warfstace | William J. Barnum | The Colonel, Damien | The Mayor (Who Killed Markiplier?)/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel, Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	Routine

Dark sat down, Will’s hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment. His eyes still caught the colors of the makeup as they enter his aura and weren’t changed. Will dragged a chair in front of him and sat.

“The usual?”

This had become somewhat of a _routine_.

Dark nodded, and Will gave his thigh a little pat before he got up to grabbed what he needed. He returned in view with his hands full and a brush between his lips, reminding Dark of an artist preparing for his craft. Without another word, the other man put two fingers under his chin and tilted his head up slightly, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from fluttering the tiniest bit and a small sigh from escaping – to stand still, he argued inanely. Will’s hand cupped his jaw, two fingers trailing down and wrapping slightly around his neck. He swallowed around them.

Looking up, Dark was reminded of the purpose of this endeavor. His own, personal makeup artist took the brush from his lips, dabbed on blue eyeshadow and pressed closer. Dark’s eyes fell closed again, but he had an excuse this time, as Will had started applying color. He let himself focus on the feelings of each of Will’s fingers on his skin one by one before putting them together like a puzzle, and he was grateful this body is cold, if only to always perceive his friend’s touch as warm.

His hands were gentle in their work, and steady, and Dark was reminded of Will’s firm grip on his revolver even as he cheerfully flailed around. Opening his eyes, he noticed the other man’s faraway gaze, seemingly lost in other meaningless thoughts as he let muscle memory work.

This _had_ become somewhat of a routine.

Will ‘tsk’ed above him when some hair disturbed the finishing touches Will had been working on. The man les go of his jaw, and while he was mourning the loss, his friend licked his palm and flipped the offending piece of hair to the back of his head, securing it in place with a disgusting wipe of his hand. Dark frowned and glared up. Above, Will grinned and wiggled his moustache.

Switching the color to red, his friend paused and took a moment to plan his actions. A thoughtful look crossed his eyes, and his hand was back on Dark, on his nape, sliding slightly down the collar of his shirt. Dark, with sudden clarity, remembered this man could very well kill him (had killed him), and he shuddered out a breath, swallowed hard, bit his tongue and reminded himself that he thankfully cannot blush anymore. Of all the senseless, idiotic, inappropriate ways to react to that thought. The moment mercifully went unnoticed by Will, who had tilted Dark’s head up towards him and to the right and started applying the red.

Dark had to keep his eyes downcast during this part, but he also had to focus every fiber of his being on keeping his breath steady as Will’s hand slowly, painfully, moved from the back of his head to his shoulder, pausing every once in a while as if unsure. Soon enough his friend broke out the lipstick and Dark preemptively experienced the stages of grief over the soon-to-be-lost contact. Will’s hand had somehow trailed to his chin, holding Dark’s lips parted, and by some means he managed to resist the incredible urge to close his eyes and lean up.

His friend was putting on the final layer when, hearing something, he jerked his head to the side. Lipstick smeared half his cheek before Will managed to react, letting out and annoyed sigh. Will brought his face so close to Dark’s and, his hand still gripping his chin, wiped off the smudge with his thumb. Dark froze and his breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but drag his gaze up, to Will, still above him, who was watching him with an undecipherable look and heavy eyelashes. He waited a breath, two, and before he could blink the tension seemed to dissipate as Will dragged himself back and looked away. And still, after a moment, when Will fixed the lipstick, Dark still felt the ghost touch of fingers near his lips, on his chin and jaw and neck and nape, and his – friend seemed to engulf him in that deliciously suffocating way.

And _this_ had become somewhat of a routine.

**Author's Note:**

> If you see any tense issues please let me know i first wrote this in present tense and switched to past.  
> Theyre idiots and i kind of hate them yes.


End file.
